La Fille Qui Flambait
by Almost an Actress
Summary: Jamie Arken, an unhappy thirteen-year-old, is suddenly shot back in time one fateful Sunday. In 1832 France, she meets a colorful cast of characters, making lifelong friends and secretly wondering why all of these revolutionaries are gay. But when she joins in on their crusade, will she escape with her life? (NOT an OC/Amis. Contains violence, some language, and slash romance.)
1. the will of living daughter curbed

**Okay, I am so sorry for all of my new stories. I should be updating the My Little Pony ones, but I just watched Les Mis for the third and now I'm in the spirit. So… enjoy!**

**My Sincerest Regards,**

**-Almost an Actress (Novi)**

**XXX**

"JAMISON ARKEN!" The screech was what woke Jamie up that fateful Sunday. Her light brown eyes snapped open; their first sight was the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. They faintly glowed green in the darkness of the room. She opened her mouth in a giant yawn.

"Yeah, Mom?" the young teenager answered sleepily, swinging her legs off of the bed. She stretched and stood, staggering out of her room and down the stairs.

"Are you aware of what time it is?!" her mother snapped.

Jamie refrained from rolling her eyes. Even on relaxing days like Sunday, her mom was always ready to wake her up with more screaming and yelling. "Um…" Jamie checked the clock on the wall. "Noon. Why?"

Her mother's eye twitched. "We missed the service," she said, struggling to remain calm.

_Oh, boy_, Jamie thought. One week ago today, she had chopped off her long, curly ringlets and dyed the remaining hair light green in an act of almost revolutionary rebelliousness. She had been tired of her mother's constant nagging about being perfect, getting good grades, and so forth. The one thing she never criticized Jamie on had been her hair – long, luscious, and brown. Jamie had grown tired of the hours-long routine it took to keep her hair bouncy and unsnarled a long time before she lopped all of the hair off. When her mother had seen her, she had actually fainted. It had taken Jamie fifteen minutes to revive her mother, and the moment she did, Lucille Arken had began screaming and raging at her daughter. The rant had lasted a full forty-five minutes – Jamie had counted – and was full of redundant shrieks of "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Jamie had explained as calmly as she could that she was tired of being the perfect, obedient, dull, and utterly unhappy daughter of the saintly businesswoman. That had brought on another barrage of accusations and incredulous "IF YOU'RE UNHAPPY, YOU CAN TELL ME!"-type cries.

Now it was officially one week later, and Jamie's mother had her mouth screwed up in a very tiny, very angry shape. It was as if she had swallowed a lemon. "I cannot show my face in that goddamned church _ever again_ as long as your hair is like that," she hissed.

Jamie resisted the urge to contradict her mother. She could have said, "You can go alone." She could have said, "I can wear a bandana, a hat." She could have even said, "Why are you saying "goddamned" and "church" in the same sentence?" But she didn't. She kept silent, gritting her teeth and running a hand defiantly over the light green, unspiked Mohawk she sported.

"We've missed the service because I allowed you to sleep in," Lucille Arken continued icily. "Get dressed and brush your teeth for God's sake. Then we're going to go to the barber shop and shave the rest of your hair off. We can say that you have a shaved head because you donated all of your hair to charity. Come on now."

At that moment, something in Jamie snapped. She had played the quiet, yes-mother-no-mother daughter for thirteen years now, and she was tired of it. "No," she said firmly. "I actually really like my new hair, Mom. I'm not about to go practically bald just so you can save your social image." She narrowed her brown eyes defiantly, daring her mother to contradict her.

And contradict her she did. "Jamison Rose Arken!" she shrieked. "I do nothing but good for you-"

Jamie stopped listening after that. There were many repetitions and reprimands mixed into the slew of words, but they were just that: words. Almost every day for every single one of her thirteen years, Jamie's mother had had at least one critical thing to say. Sometimes it was small – _Change out of that shirt; it looks shabby. Don't track mud in the house. Stop signing your schoolwork with that horrible nickname. _Sometimes it was big – _Good God, Jamison! You're just like your no good bastard of a father, you know that? You stay silent all the time, thinking everyone _adores _you, and then you're just a snake in disguise! A God damned snake! _

Words that like had made Old Jamie cry. Old Jamie, the curly-headed, brown-haired mouse of a girl who did everything her mother said and sobbed in her room for hours when no one was home. Old Jamie, the girl who squealed over every A-plus, spent many headache-inducing hours making sure her schoolwork was just perfect, and didn't dare say a word out of turn. Whenever Old Jamie had been reprimanded, she would think, _Whatever I did must have been my fault. Why would I ever want to take ballet dancing? That's stupid; of course I'm too short to be a ballet dancer! _Or: _Of course this shirt looks sloppy; why would I ever even put it on?! _Even: _I must be like Dad if Mom says so. He must have been a horrible person… just like me. _

But New Jamie was different.

New Jamie had shaved her head and died the remaining strip a beautiful leafy green. New Jamie was quite fond of her hair, and thought it made her look tough. New Jamie didn't want to go to church and suffer through the hours-long sermon rambled on by some fire and brimstone pastor. New Jamie was more confident and sure of herself, and if it meant getting reamed by her mother, New Jamie didn't mind.

Jamie took a deep breath. "Mom," she interrupted her mother.

"You are such a disgrace of a-" Lucille Arken cried. Jamie's interruption had cut right through the rant, and she sent a steaming glare her daughter's way. "_What?_" she hissed.

"I have some stuff to say," Jamie began carefully. "Mom, almost every day you make me feel horrible about myself. I'm done." With that, she turned her back and walked slowly back upstairs to her room. She clicked the lock shut and sat on her bed, blowing a breath out. She turned the light off and lay back down on the bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars until she was almost dizzy. They burned softly down on her, pale and green. They were comforting, and she closed her eyes. "I wish I could go somewhere where nobody would treat me like dirt," she whispered to the stars. "They would value me for who I am." With that, she rolled over and screamed into her pillow.

XXX

When Jamie woke up, she found herself with a mouth full of grass and dirt. "ACK! PFFT!" she spat, frantically grabbing the little stalks of grass off of her tongue. She accidently swallowed several clumps of dirt, and managed to choke for about three minutes until she dislodged them from her throat with an unattractive hack. She spat again for good measure and got to her feet, looking around. "Where… am I?" Jamie murmured. She was standing in a park of some sort, wearing a tattered, faded blue frock and clunky brown boots. Over the frock was an equally-faded white corset that was forcing her to stand up straight. The frock itself was ripped in many places and hung off of her in others. The boots were much too big, and when she wiggled her toes she could feel crumpled papers stuffed inside the toes of the boots. Over the ugly dress and washed out corset, she was wearing a tight, yet threadbare brown coat. The sun was shining and the grass was practically glowing on the pleasant summer day.

Jamie looked around her. There were no glow-in-the-dark stars or nagging mothers to be seen. She saw a few men and women walking by, and she approached a man in nice – if old fashioned – clothing. "Excuse me, sir?" she implored him. "Um… I just woke up in this park…" – she gestured around her – "… and I can't seem to remember where I am. I'm not pranking or joking, I promise. Can you tell me where we are?"

The man looked at her blankly. "_Je ne parle pas votre langue_," he said carefully.

Jamie was utterly dumbfounded. The man in front of her seemed to be speaking… French! Jamie closed her eyes and walked away. She sat down on a bench in the park and rubbed her temples, confused. _What's going on? _she thought. _One minute I'm screaming into my pillow, and the next I'm in some park! _Suddenly, she sat up rigidly, her light brown eyes almost seeming to glow with realization. Facts and pictures, sensations and sounds, memories and music, all began slamming into her head.

_You are in the city of Paris, France in the year 1832. You are going to meet some positively revolutionary people, and meet your fate in the process_, an invisible voice seemed to whisper. _You are Jamie Arken, thirteen years old, street urchin. You have no family._

_ No family? _Jamie thought. _But Mom-_

_ No_, the voice whispered regretfully. _Your mother does not exist in this world. You are alone now, but friends will be coming soon, Jamison Rose Arken. I promise._

Jamie snapped back to reality. A boy a year or so younger than her was standing next to her, shaking her shoulder. "Mademoiselle?" he questioned. "Couldja spare a franc 'r two fer a poor urchin?"

Jamie was surprised to be able to understand him. She gave him a small smile. "Sorry, kid. I can't. I'm broke, I guess."

The boy shrugged. "Worf a short, _non_?" he said with a lopsided smile. He had messy, slightly-curly blonde hair and a ratty outfit. He smelled as if he never washed, and his teeth were practically growing moss. Jamie inwardly cringed, but the boy seemed friendly enough. That was… until he noticed her hair. His eyes traveled up her figure, appraising her poor clothes. When they met the top of her head, his mouth dropped open. "Yer _'air_!" he shouted. "It… it's _green_!"

Jamie sighed, fingering a leaf-colored stand between her fingers. "I suppose so. Mom wasn't too happy about it either." She paused, remembering her apparent lack of a mother and the fact that she had been shot back in time. She grimaced. "I guess girls don't have this sort of hair here," she grumbled to the boy. She was still shocked and reeling from the fact that she could now suddenly speak French, but the fact that everyone still reacted so violently to her hair still bugged her.

The boy shook his head. "Nope, mademoiselle," he said. "But I don't mind too much. Me kids 'r all weird. Little Lisbeth don't have a right hand." He leaned in, whispering, "_She was borned without it_."

"Your… kids?" Jamie questioned.

"Yep!" the boy answered proudly. "I take care of 'em all! Orphans and th' like, y'know? Some of 'ems gots mums and papas, but they treat 'em bad. Y'know, kickin' 'em around! I ain't ever gonna let nothin' bad happen to me kids!" he declared.

"Oh," Jamie said. "Well, I guess it's cool that you take care of kids. My mom didn't kick me around, but she kicked me around with… her words."

She boy nodded. "Know 'ow ya feel. Before I ran off, me mum and papa was always raggin' on me sisters and I." He paused. "Don't think I've introduced meself. I'm Gavroche!" He stuck out a grubby hand.

Jamie took it. "I'm Jamie," she said with a smile.

"Shhjamie?" Gavroche repeated, struggling with his French accent to pronounce her American name. "Er… what sorta name is that?"

"It's American," Jamie supplied.

"Nasty folks, those Americans," Gavroche said with a rueful shake of his head. He didn't give a reason why, but Jamie suspected it was that sort of unneeded, childish want to hate something or someone. "I'd advise ya t' get a new name! A _French_ name!"

Jamie shrugged. She tried to think of something. "Er… Lysette," he mumbled to herself. _Huh, that has a nice ring to it_, she thought. _Well, Jamison did come from Mom, and I don't have a mom in this world. _A smile crept across her face. "My name is Lysette," she said confidently to Gavroche. She leaned in, whispering, "Don't tell anyone my real name, alright?"

The young boy seemed delighted to have a secret to keep. "On me honor, Mademoiselle _Lysette_," he said with an exaggerated wink. He sat down on the bench, and the two began talking. Jamie learned a great deal about Gavroche in the span of just a few hours. She learned all about his sisters Eponine and Azelma, two girls whom he loved very much. He said that 'Ponine, as he called her, was foolishly in love with some bourgeoisie fellow named Monsieur Marius, who plainly was interested in more _groomed_ women. He told her that 'Zelma, as he called his other sister, was fifteen years old, and practically invisible.

"A right wisp of a gal she is," Gavroche said. "All pale and unhappy-like. Mum and Papa don't seem t' have much use for her, so she gets ignored most of th' time, unless Papa feels like smackin' 'er around."

He told her about the thieving, murdering dandy named Montparnasse whom he saw as an idol. "He's right _pretty_ for a fellow," Gavroche supplied enthusiastically. "Gots all this nice, curly black hair and these right pretty clothes. He's silent as Monsieur Death himself, he is! He can sneak up on an alley cat and kill it dead 'fore it even knows what happens!" He enthused about the young man for a good ten minutes, assuring his newfound friend of the man's cold spirit and wicked skill with a blade. "He and 'Ponine were goin' for a while," he said at one point. "She'd always be kickin' me out whenever 'e came over, tellin' me they was havin' "private adult time." Whatever that means."

Jamie felt herself involuntarily blushing, not wanting to think about Gavroche's big sister and her lover and what they did during this "private adult time." "Um… yeah," she said.

He then went on to tell her about another group he idolized, the _Amis de L'ABC_. "They're revolutionaries!" he said excitedly. "They wanna cut the fat ones down t' size, and give the people monies and stuff! They wanna form a republic and kick the fat old king offa the throne." He went on to tell her about a few years ago when France had killed the current king, and how it had just lead to senseless bloodshed. "Kids my age were killed wiff crowds cheerin'," Gavroche said with a disgusted shake of his head. "Wasn't their fault they were nobles. The _Amis_ don't wanna see stupid bloodshed; they'll kill if they hafta, but they don't wanna." He told her more about the members. There was the leader of them, a boy named Enjolras. It was said that no one knew his first name, and no one dared create a nickname for him. He had beautiful blonde hair, and was seemingly flawless. Gavroche's eyes lit up, practically sparkling when he told of Enjolras's skill with impassioned speeches, causing entire crowds to erupt into cheering. He then told her of the other members, from the notoriously unlucky bald one, to the hypochondriac who served as his lover.

"They're gay?" Jamie questioned. "I thought people didn't approve of that in this time period."

"Of course they're happy!" Gavroche giggled. "Why'd the people not approve of bein' happy?"

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Go on."

He told her of the womanizers of the group, Courfeyrac and Bahorel, the fan-making Orphan boy obsessed with Poland, and the Romantic poet Jehan. "He's a right fop," Gavroche chuckled. "Always wearin' hair ribbons and ruffs and the like. He's got this hair that he cares so much about and-" He began to describe in detail about Jehan's luxurious hair and how much he cared. He then told about the last member of the group, a black-haired drunkard named Grantaire. "He's only there 'cause he's obsessed with Enjolras," Gavroche explained, perfectly happy to explain people's life stories to a girl who just a short time ago had been a stranger. "He'd be right handsome if he didn't waste away all day drinkin'," the boy said.

Jamie listened to Gavroche's detailed descriptions of seemingly every person he'd ever met until the sun began to set. She looked around, and saw people beginning to retreat into their homes, bidding one another goodnight. A few beggars and urchins scuttled into the shadows for a long night. Gavroche looked around at the orange hued sky and smiled. "Well, Mademoiselle Lysette," he said, "I'd best be goin on me way now. Gotsta take care 'a me kids."

Jamie blanched. "Wait!" she cried. "I… I don't know where to go... to sleep, I mean."

"Haven't ya been livin' on the streets longer 'n I?" the boy questioned.

"No," Jamie said. "I just got here. I'm obviously not rich enough to be in a house, but I don't exactly feel comfortable sleeping with…" She gestured around her at the beggars settling in for the night. As if to prove her point, a man swooped down beside a woman and snatched the crust of bread she had been gnawing at. The two began to squabble loudly, the woman squawking angrily and the man yelling at her in a deep voice.

Gavroche nodded. "When yer not used to it, the people can seem right scary." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I s'pose summa the gents wouldn't mind too much if ya roomed with 'em, pretty girl like yerself."

Jamie balked. "Wh-what?" she stammered.

Gavroche looked genuinely surprised. "What'd ya mean?" he asked curiously.

"Well… are you suggesting… I mean, do you think…?"

Gavroche looked surprised again. "How else d'ya think poor gamin girls be earnin' their fortunes?" He gave her a smile. "I guess ya could go down to the wharf where some of 'em are," he said helpfully. "Some girls just try to lure the mens right 'ere."

"I'M NOT A PROSTITUTE!" Jamie cried, earning her a few surprised glances from the beggars in the shadows. "I'M THIRTEEN YEARS OLD, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" she yelled at the urchins.

Gavroche laughed merrily. "Pardon m'mistake Mademoiselle Lysette," he giggled. "I thought… judgin' by the corset and such…"

She rolled her eyes and gave a heavy sigh.

Suddenly, the boy's eyes lit up. He was looking at some point over her shoulder and trying desperately not to burst into laughter. "Mademoiselle Lysette!" he cried through a fit of giggles. "Look out!"

Jamie, confused, ducked down so that her face met the slats of the bench just before a hand grabbed her back the bag of her threadbare jacket and yanked her up. "Who is Gavroche's little green-headed friend?" a voice purred into her ear.

She squirmed, panicking even though Gavroche seemed to be sensing no danger. In fact, he was cackling with laughter, having spasms against the backrest of the bench. "Let me go!" she snapped to her mysterious attacker.

Suddenly, before she even registered it, she was pinned to the backrest of the bench with her hands tied behind her back and her chin harshly gripped in the hand of an unusually red-lipped fellow. He had wild, yet well-kept black hair with a large top hat sitting atop his curls. "Montparnasse," she spat, remembering Gavroche's excited descriptions of the dandy.

"At your service, mademoiselle," he said with a wink.

She brought her bound hands over her head, meaning to smack him on the nose, but he had danced away before she could get within six inches of him. He moved very gracefully, appearing to be about eighteen or nineteen. He tapped her nose with a wicked grin. "Untie me!" she roared over Gavroche's giggles.

"As you wish," Montparnasse almost sighed, producing a knife with a flick of his wrist. He snapped the ropes binding her hands and grinned, trying to be charming, but coming off as a smarmy jerk.

Jamie rubbed at her wrists angrily. "Who do you think you are?!" she snapped at the young thief. "Coming here and making me look like an idiot! Well I've got some information for you, Mr. 'Parnasse-!" Before she could finish, she found herself against a tree with Montparnasse's face dangerously close to hers.

"Something you'd like to say, _petite soeur_?" he growled.

"Yeah!" Jamie snapped. "I'm not your little sister!" She kicked him hard in the shin, running back to Gavroche. "Now beat it!"

The murdering dandy's eyes lit up dangerously. "Oh, you little whore, you just crossed the line," he snarled. Only then did Jamie remember Gavroche's vivid descriptions of Montparnasse's temper that ranged from soothing and gentle one moment to wild and murderous the next. She wasn't afraid though, only offended.

"_Excuse_ me?!" she shrieked. "Why does everyone think I'm a-?!" Before she could finish, Gavroche had grabbed her arm in a vice grip, and was dragging her along, running as fast as he could.

"Don't ever cross paths with Monsieur 'Parnasse again if ya know what's go fer ya," he breathed. "We're gonna go see some nice gents now, Mademoiselle Lysette. They'll help ya proper. Besides," he added, "it's my duty t' take care of ya now, y'know?"

Jamie sighed and kept running, wondering what the heck had just happened.


	2. so apt to quarrel as thou art

**Bonjour, fellow Mizzies! ^^ Big thanks to Pyrahus (you're a lovely person, and I have so much fun chatting with you!), BananaLollypop (you're too sweet, and you sure will see her interactions with them!), and JustAWhisperAway (you are my best Mizzie-buddy, and we will take over the world together. I mean… go fight at the barricades.) Even though I only got three reviews, they're all so sweet that I'm gonna continue this story! By the by, this sorta makes it look like I don't like Montparnasse. Here's the secret: I actually really love him. If he were a human (and not like abusive) I would probably date him. Actually, probably not. Whatever. Anyway a quick warning: there's a LOT of slash in this. :3 Because… who doesn't love slash? Shippings are mainly Enjolras X Grantaire, Courfeyrac X Jehan, Joly X Bossuet X 'Chetta, and Marius X Cosette. Some one-sided 'Ponine X Marius and some 'Ponine X Montparnasse. (Not that I don't love Enjolras/Eponine, just goin' slash for this one.)**

** One last thing – Montulet is a family name, pronounced Mon-shoo-lay. **

**My Sincerest Regards,**

**-Almost an Actress (Novi)**

**XXX**

Jamie didn't think she could run another step. The newspapers stuffed into the toes of her clunky boots were scratching her bare toes, and the heels of the shoes were rubbing against her own, causing blisters. Plus – God's sake – the boots were _heavy_. A few more reasons she didn't want to run? While skinny – a little too skinny for her own good, as her mother often criticized – she wasn't in shape, and the stitch in her side was stabbing while her lungs threatened to collapse in on themselves. Plus, the strange little boy called Gavroche still had her arm in a vise grip. His grubby fingers were gonna cause bruises, she was sure.

Finally, she just screeched to a halt. Gavroche stumbled from her sudden stop and toppled foreword, taking Jamie down with him. She landed hard on her side. "Oof!" Jamie wheezed, what little air she had left in her lungs escaping. She lay in the middle of the cobbled road, breathing in the surprisingly clean air – must be from the lack of motorized vehicles – and squeezed her eyes shut.

Gavroche sprung back up on his feet, dusting his hopelessly stained clothes and whistling a tune. "Mademoiselle Lysette, ya'd best get up," he said merrily. "There's a cart comin' fer ya… _and look who's hanging on t' the back of it!_" His voice rose in pitch with the last cry. He reached down, grabbing Jamie's hands and wrenching her up. "C'_mon_!" the urchin practically screeched.

"I can't!" Jamie gasped. "I can barley friggin' _breathe_!"

"It's M'sieur 'Parnasse!" Gavroche squeaked. "He was about ready t' rip yer throat out before! He's steamin' mad now, Mademoiselle Lysette! 'E followed us all the way 'ere!" His urchin brogue got thicker and thicker the more scared he got. He tugged at Jamie's threadbare jacket sleeve. "Fer God's sake, c'_mon_!"

Jamie shook her head. Old Jamie would have run far, far away, but New Jamie was in the middle of Paris at night being chased by a murderous girly boy. She let out a humorless chuckle. The situation seemed so ridiculous it was almost unreal. She clenched her fists as the cart rounded the corner, and Montparnasse, with the moonlight glowing around him, practically floated off of the back of the cart. It was terrifying. He glided toward Jamie, his cherry-red lips twisted into a smirk and his eyes flashing with sick humor. "So the green-headed brat makes a _last_ stand," he hissed, cruelly emphasizing "last."

Jamie's fists clenched harder, her nails digging into the meat of her palms. "Who said it was a last stand?" she asked smoothly. "You'd really kill a thirteen-year-old girl? A kid?"

Montparnasse nodded without thought. He almost seemed surprised she'd asked. "What good are you to the world, Lysette?" He ghosted over and snaked an arm around her shoulders, forcing her to walk with him. Gavroche had hidden himself in the shadows, no doubt cowering even though he saw the dandy as an idol. "You're just another gamin among thousands. Why… maybe even millions!" He waved his free hand theatrically. "You are not special, _mon cher_. You are not talented. You're surely not rich. You're not particularly pretty. Your cheeks are too sallow; your eyes too big. Your hair is an abomination among men, and you're practically a rail." He made a _tsk_, _tsk_ noise, sort of sucking his teeth.

"Thanks for degrading me," Jamie said sweetly, "but can we get to the point of this?"

Montparnasse tightened his hold on her, digging his nails painfully into her arm. Other than that, he didn't look fazed. His face remained as pretty and cruel as ever. "You're too old to be taken pity on," he continued, "but too young to be a whore. Even the foulest of men wouldn't take you, _cher_. Even _they_ know thirteen is too tender an age to-"

"Okay, okay," Jamie interrupted, her cheeks heating.

"And yet, you're still a young woman. The benevolent look at the babes, the young children. They look at them with pity, but their eyes skim over you." He shrugged, as if the whole thing were an unfortunate situation. "Until you age up, you're useless in this world. I don't know what Gavroche planned to do with you, _cher_, maybe make you take care of those urchins he wastes his time on. You could be useful there, I suppose. But I've got a proposition for you: join me."

Jamie balked. "Wait… _what_?! Like five minutes ago I thought you were gonna kill me!" she blurted.

Montparnasse laughed, and finally stopped digging his nails into Jamie's shoulder. He just tightened his arm around her shoulders. "I run with a few fellows; we call ourselves the Patron-Minette. There could be a place for you. I all but lead the gents; they'd accept you if I told them to."

Jamie considered her options. Saying no to Montparnasse seemed very dangerous, and maybe joining up with the Patron-Minette wouldn't be such a bad decision. They were probably urchin criminals, but they also probably had enough to eat, judging by Montparnasse's groomed appearance. Her stomach was practically howling, since she hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning. If she could get a meal out of joining the gang… But then again, Montparnasse was devious. He'd probably do something horrible to her, slit her throat, and then leave her in the street.

"No thanks, Monsieur 'Parnasse," Jamie said brightly. "It's a really nice offer, and I'm sure the members of the Patron-Minette are lovely people, but I'd rather not be killed and possibly gutted in the street."

Montparnasse chuckled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that your final answer, _petite_?" he hissed.

"Yeah," Jamie said, suddenly very worried.

"Too bad," Montparnasse mused. "You would have made a fine addition. We would've prettied you up a bit, at least." Something in his eyes scared Jamie. Something about the way he was looking at her, when he'd talked about making her pretty.

She shuddered. "No thanks," she ground out, snaking out from underneath Montparnasse's arm and taking a few steps back. She needed something to distract the dandy. "Um…" She stopped backing up, squaring her shoulders. "But then again… I would get a decent meal out of joining you, wouldn't I?" she asked, cocking her head. She had to make him think she was considering.

Montparnasse gave a tight grin and a small nod. "_Oui_, little Lysette. Many _decent meals_." The way he said those words sent chills down Jamie's spine. Something about it made her pretty sure he wasn't talking about food. "I'm happy to see you're considering now."

Jamie gave a slightly fearful nod. "Y-yeah. Decent meals, huh? Well, I'm starving." Montparnasse's raised eyebrows made Jamie want to punch him in the face. "For _food_," she emphasized. "I haven't eaten since breakfast." She patted her stomach. "Actually… I didn't even eat breakfast. Yep, I'm hungry. Like… really hungry." She was babbling, she knew it. "So, what other perks are there to joining the Patron-Minette?" she asked quickly.

Montparnasse considered, taking off his top hat and twirling it thoughtfully on one hand. "Protection, for one thing. There are some _nasty_ fellows on the streets of Paris in the night." He gave a sick grin when he said that. Since his top hat was off of his head, his dark curls cascaded down his neck.

_How does an urchin keep his hair so shiny? Wait…_ _this guy looks like he's ready to ravish me or flay me, and this is what I think? _Jamie thought. She shook her head. "Well, being protected against nasty folks is great isn't it?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Well aren't you a spirited one," Montparnasse deadpanned. He danced over to Jamie and – for the millionth time – put his arm around her shoulders. That move was getting old. "You know, I don't usually have so much patience, Mademoiselle Lysette. I've usually ripped the throat out of anyone who dares be this… impertinent to me."

Jamie gulped. "Unh… thanks, I guess. So… more perks?"

"What, protection and a good meal aren't enough? You'd have a roof over your head, then. And of course, we'd teach you to wise up. You'll never survive on the street the way you are now."

Jamie actually stopped and considered. Those seemed like some actual perks, and maybe knowing Montparnasse would be beneficial. He was obviously a dangerous figure, and she could guess he was feared. If she was by his side, maybe no one would mess with her. And maybe she would be feared too. _But I don't wanna be feared. It might be nice to have some people to take care of me. _But Montparnasse obviously had plans for her. Plans that could very possibly end up with her being killed. Or having unspeakable things done to her. He kept emphasizing random words and grinning with innuendo. Plus, she just wouldn't put it past the seemingly sociopathic fop.

Jamie shrugged out from under his arm and stepped in front of him, looking Montparnasse straight in the eyes. "Monsieur 'Parnasse, if I joined your Patron-Minette, would you promise to protect me? And not try to do anything to me?"

Montparnasse paused. "And what do you mean by that?"

Jamie balked. Would she really have to define this? She wished that little voice she had heard in her head was back. The voice that had explained everything. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? If she hadn't pissed of the dang dandy in the first place and-

_Jamison Rose Arken. You need assistance, and you will receive it now. Do not join this young man. He is dangerous; a criminal. For a time, he will protect you. You will receive good meals, and he will make you believe he loves you._

_ Wait… love? _Jamie thought at the voice. _He's like nineteen. That's messed up._

_ This is a different time, little Lysette_, the voice said simply and gently.

Jamie steeled herself. She looked into Montparnasse's cold eyes and said clearly, "No."

"_No_?" Montparnasse hissed. He gave Jamie a glare so icy it sent chills down her spine and grabbed her wrists, his thumbs digging into the tender skin. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, and began to breathe shallowly. "After all the time I spent talking to you, you worthless little_ whore_, you _dare_ refuse me?!" he snarled.

Jamie couldn't reply, she was so scared. No… terrified. Earlier in the evening, she'd been gusty and bold with the dandy, not taking him seriously. But now… he honestly looked ready to kill her. But then, something in her suddenly hardened. He'd called her a whore. Once when she kicked him in the shin, and now. The venomous emphasis he'd put on the word sent lava running through her veins. How _dare _he call her something so rude? No thirteen-year-old girl – no, _any_ girl – should have to be called a name so degrading. Something that suggested you were easy, or sold yourself. Jamie had certainly never done anything like that, and she never planned to.

"Don't you ever call me that again," Jamie growled, and then yanked herself away. She then ran away as fast as she could, leaving Montparnasse in the moonlight. "Gavroche!" she screamed.

The little boy materialized with a grin and grabbed her hand. "Sorry for disappearin' on ya, Mademoiselle Lysette. I thought you could handle yerself." He grinned as they ran for their lives. "C'mon, I'm gonna take you to a place that's right _revolutionary_!"

XXX

Jamie and Gavroche walked into a brightly lit café, a large sign proclaiming it the "Café Musain." There was a plump woman standing at the bar of the place. She was rosy-cheeked as she looked at Gavroche and Jamie. "Well, 'ello there, Monsieur Gavroche. Yer boys are in the backroom." She peered down at Jamie. "And 'ooo's this little scrap, Gavroche?"

Gavroche squeezed Jamie's hand. "This is Mademoiselle Lysette. Lysette…" He paused, trying to come up with a last name for his newfound friend.

"My name is Lysette Montulet!" Jamie blurted. She had no idea where the last name came from. "Uh… yeah. Montulet."

The woman smiled. "Lovely to meet you, Mademoiselle."

Gavroche led her to the back to the deserted Musain, where a group of boys were gathered. The first boy Jamie noticed was practically shining. He was standing on a table with an aura of light surrounding him. It was actually just a lamp behind him, but it deceived Jamie's eyes for a moment. He had curly blonde locks, pale skin, and eyes that were the deepest blue. He was unbelievably handsome, and his voice sounded so filled with determination and passion that it nearly made Jamie swoon.

Behind him in a dark little corner was the next one. He was leaning on a table with a bottle next to him and several on the ground at his feet. He had inky hair, curly like the first boy's. Eyes that were a mix of gray and blue, and skin that was pale. Unlike the first boy's though, his skin looked sickly. He wasn't exactly handsome… or attractive at all, actually. His nose was a little long for his face, sort of crooked. His eyes were a little dead-looking, and his hair was greasy-looking. What struck Jamie was the way he was staring at the first boy. Something in those dead eyes had lit up. He was staring at the first boy with such unbridled admiration and sadness that it shocked her.

The third boy she noticed was sitting at a little table, obviously not listening to a word the impassioned one was saying. His hair was a mix of orange and blonde, rounding itself out in a nice fawn-colored shade. He had deep green eyes, and a notebook out on a table before him. Jamie would later learn it contained all kinds of detailed pictures of the human body, and nervous ramblings about diseases. He had his arm around the waist of a slightly Italian-looking woman with long black hair and the most mesmerizing eyes.

The fourth boy had his arm around the third boy. He was dressed in scrappy clothing and had a top hat covering his completely bald head. He looked a teeny bit older than the rest of them, with dark, knowledgeable eyes and a content grin planted upon his face. He was murmuring little things to the woman and the third boy, causing them both to giggle and blush.

_ Wait… both? _Jamie thought, confused. _All three of them have their arms around each other, and they look pretty into each other. Is this some weird sort of polygamy? _

She shook her head and turned her gaze to the rest of the boys. There was one who looked like a handsomer version of the second boy, with pale skin and curly black hair. There were a few key differences, though: his hair looked clean and his skin looked healthily, he had dark eyes, and he was making out with some girl in the corner. None of the others boys paid him any attention, so Jamie awkwardly turned her glance away.

There were two boys sitting together, one with chestnut curls and the other with straight, short blonde hair. The blonde one was rather short, his small physique dwarfed by the big man's. He had broad shoulders and merry, dark eyes in contrast to the scrawny boy's thin shoulders and blue eyes. The blonde one was painting what appeared to be a fan, and the broad-shouldered one was holding a rag to his crooked, bleeding nose. He had many scrapes and bruises, along with a black eye. It looked like he enjoyed being in fights a bit too much for his own good.

The next bespectacled boy was the only one listening to the speech. He had short brown hair and deep brown eyes. He was cute in a plain and slightly forgettable way. There was one more boy, but before Jamie could take him in, Gavroche called, "Boys, I'd like t' introduce you to a real nice gal!"

All of the boys looked to Gavroche and Jamie. The handsome blonde one frowned. "Gavroche, I was in the middle of a lecture. Our friends were taking down notes, and now you've interrupted them."

"Sorry," Jamie mumbled. Something in the boy's voice had a hidden power.

Gavroche didn't look sorry. He raised an eyebrow. "Monsieur Enjolras, Combeferre was the only one listenin'."

The blonde one nodded to the bespectacled one with a fond smile. "I would not doubt it. _Merci_, Combeferre." He looked disapprovingly around at the rest of the boys. "Is Gavroche right?"

They all – except for the one making out with the girl in the corner and the greasy-haired one – murmured apologizes.

Jamie smiled. Gavroche snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Boys, lemme introduce you to Mademoiselle Lysette Montulet!"

Jamie smiled again and gave a tiny wave. The broad-shouldered one sauntered over to her. "Well, well, little Gavroche, where'd you pick up this one? Ain't you a bit too young for wharf girls?"

Jamie gritted her teeth, her good humor vanishing. First Gavroche, then the urchins, then Montparnasse, and now this boy. "I AM NOT A PROSTITUTE!" she roared.

The boy looked taken aback. "But you _are _spirited," he said with a confident grin. "I like you, _petite_. I'm Bahorel." He offered a meaty hand.

Jamie took his hand and gave it a grumpy shake. "Lysette," she grumbled.

The blonde boy frowned at Bahorel and nodded. "_Bonjour_, Citizen Lysette. I'm Enjolras."

Jamie dimly remembered Gavroche's excited descriptions of _Les Amis de L'ABC_. The names began to attach themselves to the faces. "Nice to meet you."

Enjolras nodded approvingly. "For a gamin, you have manners. I trust you will help our cause."

Jamie paused. "Wait… what? Gavroche told me you were going into battle sometime soon."

Enjolras nodded. "Polite _and_ smart. I approve. You'll make a valuable addition, Citizen Lysette."

He then walked away. Jamie was left with her mouth hanging open. She turned to Gavroche. "If he thinks I'm ready to die-"

"We should be discussin' this later, Mademoiselle Lysette. M'sieur Enjolras don't like cowards 'n turncoats," Gavroche whispered.

"Wait… what?! I never agreed to any of this!" Jamie hissed. "You introduced me and then he assumed I was ready to go into battle!"

Their little spat was interrupted by the boy Jamie hadn't noticed before. He was probably the most overwhelming of the nine, with brilliant blue eyes, fair skin, and… his _hair_. It was tawny-colored, in a long, thick braid, with several flowers twirled around the locks. He had about a million freckles and the biggest smile Jamie had ever seen on a human being. His clothes were absolutely hideous – a plum-colored waistcoat and some sort of pinkish pants-type item. "_Bonjour_," he said shyly. His voice was quiet and playful, and Jamie liked him immediately. "Jean Prouvaire," he said in his quiet voice. "Please call me Jehan."

Jamie gave him a smile. "Lysette Montulet, please call me Lysette."

Jehan's giant smile grew. He suddenly grabbed her up, sweeping an arm under her legs and carrying her like a new bride. He spun her around, and Jamie let out a shocked laugh.

She had a feeling was going to like these boys.

**More author's note: Okay, I'm sorry I didn't get to the shipping or Lysette's interactions with all of them. This chapter would have run way to long if I'd done that. PLEASE review! **


	3. thy friendship makes us fresh

**Hi, everyone! I know this story is rather unpopular (heck, even **_**I**_** hate OC stories!) but a HUGE thanks to Pyrahus and MsTonksLupin. You're lovely, dears! Updates on all of my stories will be slower, because our play premiers in about a week or so, and school ends in about three. What can ya do?**

**XXX**

Eventually, everyone in the group was introduced to Jamie. The scrawny blonde boy was Feuilly, whom Gavroche had described at poor yet hardworking. He always seemed to be at broad-shouldered Bahorel's side, and Jamie guessed that they made quite the pair, being exact opposites. Maybe Bahorel protected Feuilly. The fawn-haired boy with the journal was Joly, the hypochondriac that Gavroche had told her about. His baldy boyfriend was Bossuet, and the vaguely Italian woman was Musichetta, a shared mistress. Jamie didn't get this relationship, and didn't want to know. The one with the glasses – the only one who listened to impassioned Enjolras's speeches – was Combeferre. Jamie liked him immediately. Something about him just seemed… nice. The one who was making out with the girl – a _grisette_, Feuilly had called her with a wrinkled nose – was named Courfeyrac. Apparently he was the group's general womanizer. And the final boy she hadn't know beforehand, the one who stared at Enjolras adoringly, was Grantaire, the resident drunk.

Jamie had never met a rowdier, more colorful cast of people, and found herself liking them all. She was quickly de-briefed on what their group stood for by Enjolras, whose blue eyes lit up with a fiery passion when he talked about the _Republique _he hoped to make_._ He told Jamie about how the poor were oppressed and looked down upon, and how the bourgeois sat in the catbird seat, as it were. Jamie had no idea what a bourgeois was, but she let Enjolras continue on with his rant. It was truly fascinating how passionate he was about his cause, and it didn't seem like he could think of much else. The golden boy certainly had an effect, and eventually all of his friends, even Courfeyrac, listened to him. At one point, he jumped up on the table and clapped his hands together with a sharp sound, grinning in a slightly maniacal way. "We _will_ arise, my friends! Each day that passes is one day closer to revolution!" he all but screamed.

Jamie leaned over to Grantaire, who watched with awestruck eyes. She hadn't really talked to him all night, but he seemed to understand the issue she was about to ask him about more than she. "Um… is he drunk, M'sieur Grantaire?" she whispered. "I've never seen anyone this into their topic." _Except maybe Mom when she yelled at me_, Jamie thought bitterly, but then banished the thought quickly. _I am having a good time, and I'm not going to let Mom ruin this even when I'm over a hundred years in the past. _The thought was almost comical.

Grantaire turned to look at her with dead eyes. He tapped his half-empty bottle of… something (maybe wine or absinthe) on the table. "Well, my little green-headed sister," he said with surprising clarity. "Our marble statue wouldn't dare touch a drop of this wretched drink!" He gave her a wry grin.

_Maybe he's not as drunk as I thought_, Jamie thought. "Oh, okay," she said.

"He just loves his cause. Patria_ is_ his mistress after all," Grantaire said with a bite on the word "mistress."

"He has a… girlfriend?" Jamie questioned. Somehow, she hadn't really pictured this dedicated man as having a girl in his life. The only thing he really seemed to think about was his revolution.

Grantaire barked out a laugh. "_Non_," he chuckled. "Patria, the homeland. The motherland; France."

"His motherland is his… girlfriend?" Jamie asked slowly.

Grantaire did that strange bark-laugh again. "Patria, my dear, is a figure of speech. He means, the way most men fawn over their mistresses, he dedicates himself to Patria."

Jamie felt a little foolish. "Ah," she said, not sure what else to say. There was a pause between them as Enjolras continued to rant on. She couldn't really understand what he was saying at this point; he was using words beyond her. Something about equality, liberty, and fraternity. Beyond that, she was pretty lost. She had never met anyone like this Enjolras. Then again, she had never been shot back in time either. Or had a full conversation with a drunk man. She turned back to Grantaire. "You really like him, don't you?" she asked. "There's something in your eyes when you look at him. Like you love –" Jamie stopped speaking. _Love?_ Where had that come from? The boys didn't seem to see an issue with homosexuality, as it were, what with Joly and Bossuet – and possibly flowery Jehan, but love? Grantaire and Enjolras? It didn't seem feasible.

He looked at her with a funny look on his face. Finally, he just said, "Well you're a candid one, aren't you?" He then paused for bit. "Yes. I suppose you could say that I 'really like' the man," he said gruffly. He didn't comment on the "love" issue.

"Why?" Jamie asked. "I mean, he's brilliant, but the way you were staring at him earlier… like you worshiped him almost."

Grantaire snorted, as if Jamie were missing an obvious fact. "Why_ wouldn't_ I worship a god? Apollo brings light to my meaningless life. He's glowing and I'm… darkling. He's –" He stopped speaking and mumbled something that could have been, "Nothing more to it."

Jamie nodded, confused. "Alright." She remembered back to Gavroche's words about Grantaire; how, as he said "He's only there 'cause he's obsessed with Enjolras." Jamie pondered on this for a moment. Enjolras hadn't paid the least bit of attention to Grantaire during the entire time she'd been there, which must've been over an hour. Grantaire seemed to be a creature of the dark, Enjolras a daytime creature. Grantaire's defensiveness had left him, and he was – surprise, surprise – looking at Enjolras again. His dead eyes sparkled for the briefest moment, maybe catching some of his Apollo's glow. His long, crooked nose almost righted itself. Jamie cocked her head. He was_ so_ close to being handsome… if only he would clean himself up or something. Since Enjolras cared so much about the poor and disadvantaged, she was rather surprised at he didn't pay more attention to Grantaire.

She decided to take matters into her own hands.

She waited until Enjolras paused his speech and tugged at the ankle of his trousers (he was still standing on the table) and hissed, "Can I talk to you?"

Enjolras must have realized she wanted to have a private conversation, because he turned to his friends. "_Mes amis_," said he, "I find myself quite parched. Revolutionary passion dehydrates even the most dedicated individuals." The sides of his mouth twitched in a small smile.

_Did he just make a joke?_ Jamie thought. Somehow it didn't quite fit in with his character. She watched Enjolras hop lightly down from the table and walk to the front room of the Café. Friendly chatter filled the space in a few moments, and Jamie and then realized that maybe he meant her to come to him. She got up from her seat beside Grantaire and smiled at him. "I'll be right back," she said. Nobody looked up when she went to the front of the Café, where a few of the "normal" patrons were. A man and a woman with a small child, a man alone, and two laughing men with women on their arms. Jamie ignored them and looked for Enjolras, spying him alone at a table with an untouched wineglass full of water in front of him. The sight made her smile, a wineglass full of water indeed! _Back home, if I tried to put water in a wineglass, Mom would ring my neck!_ Jamie thought merrily. She crossed the room to Enjolras and sat down across from him.

"Citizen Lysette," he acknowledged with a small nod. After a pause, he gave a tiny grin. "The 'polite and intelligent gamin,' I believe I said earlier this night?" At Jamie's uncertain nod, he chuckled. "Forgive me; now I see that was rather rude. Though you _are_ a gamin, you don't need to be reminded of it. I apologize if I've offended you." With that, he put a coin on the table for the water and rose in the direction of the backroom.

"Oh, no – wait Enjolras!" Jamie said. "That's not what I wanted to talk about with you. That didn't offend me."

"Ah," Enjolras said, looking slightly confused. "Then what is it?"

Jamie took a deep breath. _Now or never. _"You know Grantaire?" she started.

Enjolras gave a tight nod. "Yes, I'm aware of his existence," he allowed. "Then again," – he was wry this time – "who is not?" A dark look crossed into his eyes. "The man is a nuisance among beings. Cynical idler! Mocking drunkard!" He shook his head ruefully. "There is so much promise to the man, and yet all he does is waste away the day with wine and absinthe! Well, Lysette, here is a piece of information I bet you didn't know: the man is an artist. I've seen his work – it's amazing. He captures the raw essence of man's desires and crafts it into colors and shapes. I've seen him paint horrifying scenes of death, and beautiful scenes of intimacy." An odd look came into his eyes, one of almost longing. "He does portraits too, you know. I've seen him draw the _Amis_. He captures something there, he does. The twinkle in Bossuet's eye; Courfeyrac's hair… down to the _curl_." His voice was soft, almost awestruck.

Jamie was rather surprised at Enjolras's random outpour. Why would he dump these random person issues with Grantaire on her? After all, she'd known him for all of… two hours? _Jeez, it feels like I've been here for years_, she thought. Maybe he cared more for the drunkard than she knew.

Enjolras looked up suddenly. "Oh… excuse me. I'm sorry, Citizen Lysette." He looked mildly flustered. "It was inappropriate of me to shove my personal views and issues upon you that way."

"No problem, really," Jamie assured him. "So… Grantaire. He really seems to idolize you, you know? You kinda ignored him the whole night. I think I get it a little better now though, since you think he has so much potential." She took a deep breath and blurted, "HaveyoueverconsideredthefactthatGrantairemightbei nlovewithyou?" She actually squeezed her eyes closed, waiting to be reprimanded. When none came, she slowly opened her eyes. Enjolras was just sitting there with a perplexed look on his face. Jamie raked a hand through her leafy green hair. "Well?" she asked.

"I… will say… I have never… considered that alternative," Enjolras said slowly. He drummed his long fingers on the table. "In love with me, you say? Another man in… in love with me?"

"Whoa, whoa!" Jamie said. "Look, I never said that I believed this. I mean… just the way he looks at you."

"He compares me to a god," Enjolras murmured, mostly to himself. "Says he: 'the man of marble' or even 'Apollo' when he's feeling especially… personal."

Jamie listened to Enjolras sort this out. "Monsieur Enjolras, I've known you for two hours. Don't let this go to your head," she cautioned. "I get that Grantaire venerates you or something, but don't take that as an all out love confession, just because a thirteen-year-old noticed it. Then again," she mused, "you _are_ all boys – except for Musichetta – so I could see why you wouldn't know if he was in love with you… if he is, that is. I mean, girls notice this kind of thing more."

Enjolras gave a sort of nod. "Citizen Lysette, I think you're right," he said, with the most perturbed look Jamie had ever seen on a human's face. "It… it all makes sense now. He is always trying to embrace me or compliment me – when he's not being cynical, that is. But… he always looks at me as if I… hung the moon, as it were." His marble cheeks pinkened. "_Mon Dieu_!" Enjolras exclaimed loudly. He jumped up from the table and knocked over his chair, causing the laughing men and women to stare, and the man and woman with the child to hurry from the Café. The lone man was passed out drunk, and didn't react.

"Calm down!" Lysette hissed, grabbing him by the front of his red vest and tugging him into the chair he hadn't knocked over. She walked over and righted the chair, sighing. _Boys from 1832_, she thought with a shake of her head. "Okay, so maybe he's in love with you. Let's just say he is. What would you do?"

Enjolras stroked his chin. "I… do not know," he answered honestly. "I'm not opposed to the idea of loving someone of the same gender – look at Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta. Look at Jean Prouvaire and Courfeyrac."

"Wait. Hold up," Jamie said, shaking her head. Jehan and _who_? Are we talking about the same person here? Wasn't Courfeyrac making out with that…_ grisette_… Feuilly called her? He was really gettin' into that. Are you telling me he's _gay_?!"

"Well, he is a happy man, but I do not know what 'making out' means. If you're referring to the woman he was kissing, yes I suppose he was 'into' that. But he is with Prouvaire, I assure you." He tapped his chin. "You are not to tell a soul."

Jamie nodded. "Whatever. Back to the actual issue. What would you do if –"

"If Grantaire was in love with me," Enjolras snapped. "Yes, I believe we've established that. I don't know what I would do, as I said. I've never loved anyone, especially not a slovenly winecask as he is, but he can be rather charming at times…" He stopped talking and brooded for a few minutes, sometimes mumbling to himself. Suddenly, the door of the Café Musain was slammed rather forcefully open. A freckle-faced boy and a girl of about twelve walked in, laughing with each other. The girl had long, wavy brown hair and twinkling brown eyes. She had a million freckles peppering her face, matching the elder boy's. "Marius," Enjolras sighed.

The boy walked over to Jamie and Enjolras, grinning. "_Bonjour_, Enjolras!" said he with a merry grin. He turned to Jamie, his eyes bugging at the sight of her. Jamie could see why – the marble statue talking to a sallow-cheeked, green-headed gamin who looked like she belonged at the wharf more than in a classy café like the Musain.

"Hi," Jamie said. "I'm Lysette Montulet."

Apparently the boy wasn't used to gamins speaking to him so directly. "Um… I'm Marius Pontmercy," he said.

Jamie felt something in her twitch. She knew the name. _Gavroche told me… this is the 'bourgeoisie fellow' his sister is in love with_, she reminded herself. She had expected him to mean or something from the way Gavroche described him, but he just looked… a little goofy, in all honesty. "Nice to meet you," Jamie said. She turned to the young girl and gave her a small smile.

The girl smiled shyly back.

Enjolras cleared his throat and cast Jamie a look that said: _This conversation isn't over. _He turned to Marius and the girl. "_Mes amis_, this is Citizen Lysette Montulet, a… friend. She is going to be a part of our revolution, and a valuable addition at that. Lysette, allow me to introduce Marius and Rolande Pontmercy, cousins to each other and friends to the revolution."

Lysette looked at Rolande, deciding she liked the shy girl. She stuck out a rather bony hand, which Rolande shook politely. Marius and Enjolras departed for the backroom, leaving the two girls to their own devices. "It's good to meet you," Rolande said quietly. "Marius takes me to these meetings and there are never any people my own age except that Gavroche. He's alright, if a bit brash."

Jamie grinned. "It's good to meet someone my own age too… other than Gavroche, of course. You're… twelve, thirteen?"

"Twelve," Rolande answered.

"Thirteen," Jamie said.

There was a brief lapse in conversation and they sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Rolande began speaking. She told that she was Marius's cousin, but her parents had died, so Marius took care of her. She twisted her brown hair nervously when she said this, as if she were worried that Jamie would judge her. She mumbled something about the tutors that looked at her with horrible sympathy in their eyes, and how it infuriated her.

"Hey – I'm sorry about your parents, but I'm not gonna single you out about it," Jamie said.

Rolande gifted her with a smile.

XXX

Eventually, the hours wore on. Eight, nine, and ten passed in the blink of an eye, full of laughter and more speeches courtesy of Enjolras. Rolande and Jamie ended up spending a whole hour giggling and talking in the front room. Jamie found out that Rolande had lived with her parents in the countryside for the first eleven years of her life, living easily and without much conflict. In the last year she lived with them, they had gone out for a buggy ride, which Rolande didn't attend. They had crashed, both killed instantly according to the doctor who had checked them over. Rolande was then sent to live with Marius, where she had for the past year. She was still getting used to the big city after all this time, but enjoyed it immensely.

Jamie noticed that the girl was demure, sweet, and polite, if a little too quiet. Rolande reminded Jamie a lot of herself before she had shorn her hair. She said as much, and Rolande's cheeks had pinkened with a happy blush. "You think?" she asked excitedly, happy to be compared to Jamie. Jamie felt somewhat flattered; she'd never seen herself as a leader that people stuck to, but it seemed to be happening now.

She told Rolande a very glossed over version of her past, trying not to include the fact that she was from 21st century America, not 19th century France. "Well… I'm from America," she said. "I lived with just my mom because Dad left when I was two."

Rolande gave a knowing nod. "That happened to Marius's girl, Cosette."

"Yeah. Uh… Mom didn't really like having a kid, I think. She always had something to say, to insult me or reprimand me." She stumbled around, her story not exactly making sense. Eventually, she just said that she taught herself French from old books, snuck aboard a ship bound from America to France, and had ended up in Paris. Of course, this story didn't make sense in the least, but Rolande seemed to believe it.

She and Rolande eventually ghosted back into the backroom, settling down at a table next to Marius and Feuilly. Jamie decided to observe Courf and Jehan, remembering Enjolras's description of their secret relationship. Indeed it was, they were sitting next to each other, and when Jamie peeked under the table, Jehan's hand was loosely entwined with Courfeyrac's. She gave a small smile, widening her eyes at Jehan and jerking her head in the direction of their hands. Jehan blushed and gave a tiny smile with a small shrug. Jamie winked.

Enjolras was talking about something revolutionary again, and Rolande was entranced. Jamie looked at Grantaire in the corner, still nursing a bottle, this time wine. _Are you in love with Enjolras? _she thought. This was closely followed by: _Does being in this group make every guy gay or something?_

Eventually, the hours passed. Bahorel somehow migrated next to Jamie and Feuilly, throwing an arm around both of them. Jamie had been half-asleep up until this point, and now she jerked. "Unuh?" she questioned.

Bahorel laughed merrily. "Wake up, _petite_," he grinned. "The night's still young!"

Jamie yawned in response. "Enjolras probably jumps your butts if you fall asleep during his meetings, _non_?" she asked sleepily.

Bahorel roared with laughter. "You Americans are strange," he chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "He has never jumped at our… butts… as it were."

"It's an expression," Jamie said, annoyed. "It means he gets on to you; gets mad."

"Ah," Feuilly noted, shrugging out from under Bahorel's arm. Jamie followed suit.

"Well, no matter," Bahorel said. He began engaging the two of them in some story about a fight he had gotten into. Jamie nodded at the right points, still a little sour toward Bahorel. After about ten minutes, though, she began truly listening to him. He was funny and smart, and she decided that she just might give him another chance.

XXX

Jamie woke up with her cheek pressed uncomfortably into a table. Bahorel's arm was draped across her shoulders, drawing her to him. She was about to get mad… until she realized he was asleep too. His other arm was around Feuilly, who was leaning his head on his best friend's shoulder. Jamie smiled sleepily, shrugging out from under Bahorel's arm. His half-embrace wasn't suggestive; it was protective, like a big brother. She checked the grandfather clock in the corner, finding it was midnight. All of the _Amis_ were asleep. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were on the floor in a mess of blankets. Musichetta with her arms around Joly's chest and her legs tangled with Bossuet's, Joly with an arm thrown around Musichetta, Bossuet with his arms around Joly's waist, his legs entangled with Musichetta's. Ever the unlucky, Bossuet's hat had gotten squished under Joly's head somehow. Jamie smiled and rolled her eyes. Though the three had a somewhat… taboo… relationship, Jamie found herself not exactly minding. They all seemed happy enough, and in love. Who was she to judge?

On a small couch, Rolande was asleep in Marius's lap, his arms around her and his chin resting on her hair. Jamie grinned at her newfound friend, and how childlike she seemed. Jehan and Courf were on the other end of the couch, curled up together. That was Jamie some pause. _This may or may not be the cutest thing I've ever seen_, she thought, surprised. Combeferre was collapsed in a chair in the corner with a book over his face, making Jamie giggle.

Grantaire was asleep on a red chaise lounge with a blanket over him and a bottle (which was on its side with the contents slowly spilling out on to the floor) on the floor next to him. Jamie noticed Enjolras was absent from the room. _Probably doing something revolutionary_, she mused. She yawned and quietly dragged out a chair, sitting on it. She let her neck droop, and began to close her eyes. That was… until something utterly unexpected unfolded before her.

Enjolras strode into the room, looking at his sleeping friends and nodding, throwing them tiny smiles. As he reached the end of the room, Grantaire shot out a hand and snagged Enjolras's wrist. "Apollo… stay with me," he mumbled. Jamie didn't know what she expected. Maybe for Enjolras to snatch his wrist out of Grantaire's grasp. Maybe for him to demand: "Are you in love with me?!"

Or something of the sort.

But, no. Enjolras took a deep breath and leaned down, lying on the fainting couch beside the drunkard and wrapping his arms around Grantaire. Grantaire's eyes shot open, and he looked extremely perturbed for a moment. He glanced down at the steadily spilling wine, shrugged, and fell back asleep.

Jamie's eyes bugged. She shot Enjolras a glance and they locked eyes. He mouthed: _TELL NO ONE, LYSETTE! _and Jamie nodded, smirking. She gave a small shrug and walked back over to Bahorel, and snuggled under his arm.

"Hey, Lysette," he grumbled, "if you're going to go walking about, don't wake me up."

"Sorry," Jamie whispered.

"S'okay, 'Sette. I'm goin' back to sleep," Bahorel hissed, and promptly fell back asleep.

Jamie thought about this. Lysette Montulet… Jamison Arken. Somehow, the old name just didn't fit anymore. It felt like it belonged to someone else, a whole other body in a different world. Before she fell back asleep, Jamie – no,_ Lysette_ – thought, "I'm not Jamie anymore."

**Second Author's Note: Well, this is the longest chapter of any story I've ever posted. I'm sorry it's so long! Anyway, hope you enjoy! Yay shipping! :D**


	4. i am sworn brother, sweet

**Bonjour, my miserable(s) friends! Hi! :3 I'm still alive, I swear. Here, have an update. It's stupid, meaningless fluff. Don't worry. Things get all angsty soon enough. **

**XXX**

_I'm Lysette_, was the first thought that entered her mind she awoke. _Jamie doesn't exist anymore. She's from another world. Goodbye, Jamie. _Lysette frowned at the intense thoughts, willing herself to go back to Jamie. She wouldn't be staying in 1832 forever. She would wake up and rocket back to her unhappy 21st century existence, left with bitter longings and crazy memories. She would forget about it eventually, and go back to scolding mothers and absentee fathers. It would all seem like a weird dream. _Don't get attached, Jamie,_ Lysette thought. _It's probably best if you leave now._

_ Lysette_, The Voice whispered in her head. _Do not leave._

She was relieved to hear the now-familiar Voice. It always brought guidance. _Why shouldn't I leave? _she thought. _I'll just go back to my own time sooner or later. I don't want to form attachments and then be miserable when I go home. _

_ No, you will not be returning to your own time soon. Form those attachments. You still have much to see, learn, and do. You are here for a reason. Did I not say you would meet your fate? This is the last time I will speak to you, Lysette, so take my words seriously and listen very carefully. Remember them; use them. Stay by your friends to the very end. And in this "end," you will know what to do. Trust yourself on this. Know your enemies, and do not fall in with the Patron-Minette or any of the other foul men that will seek to tempt you. Protect your friends and they will protect you. Both parties will need trust and love. Goodbye, Lysette. _

_ Wait! _she thought frantically. _Don't go! I-I need help! Please! _

There was a silence in Lysette's head. The Voice had departed. She was confused and angry, but had to put that aside when she smelled food. Hunger won out, and she peeled her cheek from the table and stumbled into the front room of the Musain, where the Amis were sitting around tables and eating. Lysette's stomach all but convulsed. On chipped plates were piles of meat and bread and cheese, with glasses of water beside them.

"Lysette!" Bahorel called in a voice too loud for the morning. "We've ordered you some food! Come! Eat!"

Feuilly pulled his cap down lower over his ears and glared up at his friend. "Shh!" he grumbled. "Honestly, Bahorel. It's naught but eight and you're shouting. Give us some peace."

Lysette staggered over to the table where Bahorel was sitting and began to dig into the food like a starving jackal. She hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and it was certainly showing. After gnawing at the bread and downing the meat and cheese in one go, she felt better. Four glasses of water later, her parched tongue wasn't sandpaper-heavy, and she felt clearheaded.

Bahorel roared with laughter. "Well, well!" he chuckled loudly. "Were you hungry, then, 'Sette?"

She grinned and shrugged, looking around. Combeferre was sitting next to Enjolras, reading a book and turning the pages with a soft, content smile on his face. Enjolras was scribbling something on a piece of parchment with scary intensity and sneaking uncomfortable looks at Grantaire now and again. Courfeyrac was whispering things to Jehan, and Musichetta and Joly were fussing over some scrape that Bossuet had gotten himself into. Rolande and Marius were looking at a book together, discussing it quietly.

And Grantaire?

He was sitting at a table alone, staring at the wooden whorls with the same intensity that Enjolras was applying to his notes.

Lysette hazarded a guess that neither of them had talked about what had happened last night. She picked at a seam on her threadbare coat, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Guessing that she wouldn't be getting a shower anytime soon, her thin shoulders slumped.

"Lysette?" The softly asked question came from Combeferre. "Child, do you have a home? Or a family to take care of you? Not to make you uncomfortable, but we know next to nothing about you."

_Oh, boy. More lies. _"I don't have a home or a family," she answered. At least that part was honest. "My father is…gone. He left when I was two. My mother is…back in America." Still honest, even if she was leaving more than a few details out.

"You're from America?" Feuilly questioned curiously. "What is it like?"

_Oh, crap. How do I tell them about America? What was nineteenth century-era America like? Think, Lysette. _"It's…uh…very similar in some ways. There are horses and carts and coaches. The poor are pretty much separated from the rich. We're…discovering a lot of stuff right now. Inventing new things." _There. That's…kind of true, right? Dear God, please don't let them ask what kinds of things we're inventing. _

"Is it sanitary?" Joly wondered, holding his little notebook in front of him.

_Great. One wrong word and he'll have a panic attack! _Lysette mentally growled. Still, though, she was done lying. Especially if these boys were to be her new friends. "Well…kind of. There are medical colleges; those are really sanitary. And in most people's houses, things are pretty clean. It's like Paris. There are dirty people and clean people and…stuff."

"How are the girls?" Grantaire grinned cheekily, flashing a saucy wink towards Musichetta. She chuckled and swatted him with a dish towel that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

"They're hideous. Their skin is purple and they have warts all over their faces," Lysette deadpanned.

Grantaire visibly paled.

Lysette laughed. "I'm joking! Besides, aren't you actually ga–?" She suddenly had a coughing fit that certainly had nothing to do with the acidic look Enjolras sent her way. Her totally-not-fake coughing dissolved into real coughing and hacking after a few moments, she ended up half-choking.

Joly was up and out of his seat before Lysette could blink. He picked her up bridal style and laid her out on one of the tables, gripping her chin and forcing her mouth open. He looked around. "No blood," he muttered. "You don't appear to have any signs of consumption, but it's always a possibility." He yanked her head to the side and inspected her neck for an uncomfortable amount of time. "I'm going to make a rather small incision in your arm, Lysette," Joly explained. "This will let the diseased blood out of your bloodstream."

"I'm not sick!" Lysette screamed hoarsely. She yanked her arm away and stumbled off the table. "It's just a cough!" _Oh, God. Oh, God. Blood. Okay, please don't let there be any blood. I'm terrified of blood_, she thought, on the verge of having a full-blown freak out.

Joly tried to grab her arm back. "Lysette! I understand that it's frightening, but you've got a deadly disease! You probably have only a few days left to live, if not hours!"

"I'M FINE!" Lysette roared.

There was a silence in the Musain. Joly looked as if he might faint. "Look, I'm sorry for shouting at you, Joly. I just…really don't like blood," Lysette explained. "You know disease horrifies you? That's what blood does to me."

Bahorel broke the tenseness with a belting laugh. "Little 'Sette is scared of blood," he chuckled. "A well-seasoned American gamin afraid of a bit of blood."

"Hey – I resent that," Lysette growled. "Besides, I've been through more in the last _day_ than you've probably been through in a _year_!"

Bahorel scooped her up and sat her on a rather high windowsill. Lysette noticed that everyone did a lot of scooping people up in this time period.

"Alright, then, 'Sette. Tell me what you've been through in the last day," Bahorel said, challenge in his eyes.

_Oh, nothing much. Just got in a terrible fight with my mom, got shot back in time, super gross clothing appeared on my body, almost got killed by Montparnasse, got called a whore twice, everyone thought I was a prostitute, didn't eat for twenty-four hours and, oh yeah! Joly almost got his blood letting practice for the day out on my arm! _How much of that could she really say? "Some jerk named Montparnasse almost killed me," she announced triumphantly.

"Wait a minute…" Marius said, finally looking up from where he and Rolande had been reading. "Did you just say…Montparnasse?" A dark look crossed his eyes.

"Uh-huh."

"Ugh," Marius growled. "My good friend Eponine is involved with him. He's not healthy for her; I've told her one hundred times! He's an utter coward! Verbally abusive to her, and he thinks the world of himself."

"Yeah, well he called me a whore…twice. And he asked me to join his gang and then almost killed me. Not to mention the fact that he was…"_ I don't think they would understand the word 'flirting' in this time period. _"Uh…making suggestive…suggestions the whole time."

"That _bastard_!" Bahorel snarled, clenching his fists. "That pretty-boy _bastard_! Take me to him, 'Sette! I'll beat him until he's a bloody mess! I'll –" He stopped.

Lysette had begun to go pale around the ears at the mention of a "bloody mess." "It's fine," she said. "I did kick him in shin and say a few things I probably shouldn't have. So…I think we're even. Sorta. I'd just like to forget about it."

Bahorel frowned, but nodded grudgingly, his friendly competition forgotten.

Jehan smiled nervously. "Let's go on to a different subject. Do tell us more about America, Lysette. Is it romantic?" he asked dreamily.

"Sure," Lysette answered. "I mean, as romantic as any place can be. Paris is more romantic, I'd think. You know. Parisian sunsets and Eiffel Tower kisses and all that."

Jehan looked confused. "What is the Eiffel Tower?" he asked.

"What do you mean? It's –" Lysette stopped. _The Eiffel Tower hasn't been built yet, stupid. It won't be built for another – what? Ugh. Whatever. I'm horrible at math! It won't be built 'till everyone here is dead or really old! _"It's nothing. Just a big tower in…America." _And there's the lie._

"I thought you were talking about Paris when you –" Marius began.

"Okay!" Lysette interrupted. "I have many more facts about America!"

They spent the next thirty minutes grilling Lysette on any and every detail about America. From the most popular authors to the separation of the rich and the poor, she improvised and told little white lies, feeling bad but sort of bemused at the same time. Eventually, nine-thirty rolled around.

The Amis slowly trickled out of the Musain with various places they needed to go. At last, it was just Bahorel and Lysette left. "Well, I've missed my two classes of the day," Bahorel said merrily. "I suppose another skipped day won't kill me. Little 'Sette, there's something I've been meaning to ask you: do you have home?"

"Uh…no," Lysette answered. "I guess I don't. It's fine, though. I can probably find Gavroche, right? Doesn't he have a place for his kids to live? He said something about an elephant, yeah?"

Bahorel considered for a moment. "Lysette, what would you say about living with me? I'm a poor man, but I have enough means to get by. You're a skinny thing; can't each much, can you? I suppose I might be able to find you a decent set of clothes. You could come to the meetings with me. Ah, let's see…I only have one bed, but I'd gladly occupy my chair. Honestly, it's much more comfortable. Well?"

Lysette smiled, touched by Bahorel's kindness. _I haven't known him for two days and he invites me to live with him. Wow. _ "I'd love that," she answered honestly. "Thank you. Thanks…so much."

"Think nothing of it!" Bahorel said with his grin that was really more like a bearing of teeth. "One problem – the landlady of the flat where I live…she's an old bat. Quite judgmental and can't keep her gossip-loving mouth shut. She'd think something was quite off if a little green-headed girl came to live with me with no explanation whatsoever. I'm still not quite sure how you got your hair that appalling color, but no matter. I don't think anything can be done about it, right?"

Lysette nodded.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we cross it. Anyhow, the story is this: you're my younger sister. Your name is Lysette Bahorel, not Lysette Montulet."

"Bahorel is your _last_ name?!" Lysette said.

"Yes. No one in this group goes by first name. Did you honestly think a set of parents would be so odd as to name their son Feuilly? Or Combeferre? Their names are Masselin Feuilly and Étienne Combeferre. Honestly, Lysette." He shook his head and chuckled. "More names to come later, child. Let's go home…_soeur_." He grinned. 

"Alright then…_frère_," Lysette returned with a smile. On a whim, she took his (admittedly giant) hand in hers and the two exited the Café Musain.


	5. at chance and sufferance

**Ah, this story's last update before I start school again. Please enjoy this! I know it's not a great chapter, but this story has suddenly gained in popularity, and I just want you to know how much it means to me! I hate OC stories too, people! (And yet I'm writing one. Hmm.)**

**Yours,**

**-Georgie**

**XXX**

Lysette and Bahorel strolled down the street, still hand in hand. The sights around them reminded Lysette of a painting she had once seen in an art museum when she was little. All of the Parisians all but gliding over the sidewalks, the women with their flowing dresses and parasols, and the men with their fancy waistcoats and fobs. Even though most of them were looking at her with unmasked disdain (she was pretty sure it was the hair), she couldn't help but admire them. What life would have been like for them! Lazy days of strolling your own city, mild summers and lovely parks to explore, beautiful snowy winters…it would have been paradise! The romantic fantasy was shattered when she heard a violent sob erupt from somewhere to the right.

"Turn away," Bahorel said in a low voice.

Of course, this caused Lysette to look. She turned her head, searching for the source of the cry. It was a woman who looked maybe twenty-five at the most, her snarled blonde hair sticking out from under a rag of a bonnet, tears making clear tracks in her dirt-stained face. She let out a harsh sob, clutching an unmoving toddler to her chest. "_Non, non, non, mon petit_," she mumbled nonsensically, rocking back and forth.

A girl who looked about six or seven – just as dirty as the woman – tugged at the sobbing woman's arm. "Please, Maman. Let him go!" she cried. "Jean is dead now!" The woman ignored the little girl, holding the toddler tighter. The little girl began to cry, turning her gaunt face to the passersby. "Please, help us!" she cried to the men and women.

The men and women continued to walk by, as if the little girl hadn't spoken at all. "We need to help them," Lysette said immediately, without thinking. Suddenly, she felt as if she had been suckered. _THIS is what the Amis are fighting for_, she realized. "Bahorel," she gasped. "This is what you're fighting for, isn't it?"

He gave a soft, sad smile. "Exactly."

"It's disgusting how those people won't help them," Lysette continued. "So…_we_ have to." She walked over to the little girl and kneeled down so that she was at the child's height. "Hello," she said quietly. She had always been good with kids.

The girl sniffled. "Hi."

"What's wrong?" Lysette asked. She could clearly see the issue, but kids liked to talk, and if that was what could make the kid feel better, than that's what Lysette would let her do.

"Jean got sick," the little girl said, wiping at her eyes. "We tried to get enough money to get him medicine, we really did! But…but…he got too sick. And he died three days ago. Maman won't let him go now. She just keeps crying. I've tried to make her let Jean go, but she refuses! And…and…I'm hungry." She ended her little monologue with a hiccup.

"What's your name?" Lysette asked, feeling rather horrified by the whole thing. She had seen pictures of dead people before in history textbooks and online, but never in person. A dead child was even more scarring. _He was just an innocent little boy_, she thought, sick. _And now he's dead. Oh, God. _She tried to avert her eyes from the hysterical mother, while each ragged sob and crazy mutter hit her like a punch in the gut. On the outside, though, she remained the picture of calm. _It's for the little girl_, she thought. _Just keep calm and carry on, like that old World War saying. _She'd always found it a bit stupid; pretentious even, seeing as people always used it for humor, but now she was seeing how it would have helped those in the war. As long as they could remain calm, they could carry on with their lives. Sure, there were horrors happening all around them, but you couldn't let those horrors tie you down. At some point, you just had to–

"I'm called Suzette, miss," the child said, drawing Lysette out of her thoughts. "I'm seven."

"Well, Suzette," Lysette said with a weak smile, "our names rhyme, now don't they? I'm Lysette Mont- uh…Bahorel. Lysette Bahorel. I think my brother and I can help you." She had no idea where the words were coming from. "I know a little boy who lives in an elephant," she went on, "and I think he would be glad to help you."

"An _elephant_?!" Suzette cried, her eyes alight. "A little boy who lives in an _elephant_?! Oh, please take me there! I want to see his elephant!" She beamed, radiating happiness.

On the one hand, it felt good to make the child happy. She had obviously lived a hard life full of struggles. Her emaciated form was like an open book. But on the other hand…it was weird how she was beaming mere feet away from her openly sobbing, half-crazy mother, how she had seemingly forgotten about her dead brother.

_What a crazy world they – we – live in_, she thought. _Your dead brother is feet away from you and you smiling like you just won the lottery. Then again, though, I guess if you're scrabbling to survive as is, tears are just a waste of time. _She shook her head. This was too much. Too many revelations in just a matter of minutes. _I'll think about it later._

She took Suzette's hand. "Yes, an elephant. It's not a real animal, but a statue that touches the sky. The little boy who lives there is named Gavroche, and he's a good boy. He'll take care of you for a little while until your mother is…happy again."

"Oh, no," Suzette said with a shake of her head. "Maman will never be happy again. It's no one's fault, really. She lost my big sister Victoire two weeks ago to the same sickness. Victoire was nine. She…she was my best friend." A few tears slipped down Suzette's face. She quickly wiped them away, and gave a wan smile. "Maman has lost too many people. First Papa, who I'm not allowed to speak of, and then Victoire, and now Jean." She shrugged. "She'll loose herself soon enough."

_Wise words from the seven-year-old_, Lysette thought. "Well, we can hope, though, can't we, Suzette? Hope never hurt anyone." _At least not too much. _"But until then, why don't you come and meet Gavroche."

"That sounds nice," Suzette said. "I suppose I should tell Maman." She approached the woman who had now stopped sobbing, and was making depressing snuffling noises. "Maman, I'm going away now…to live in an elephant. A statue that touches the sky, like Miss Lysette said. You can find me there. I love you."

The woman finally looked up, brushing a matted blonde lock out of Suzette's eyes. Lysette expected her to say something like, "Don't leave me." After all, she had just lost two children. How could she stand to lose another? How could anyone–

"Suzette," she woman whispered.

That was all. Just the briefest flash of sanity and understanding. Just a whisper of her daughter's name. A nod. And that was it. She folded back in on herself, clutching the dead child, whimpering quietly.

Suzette nodded and walked back over to Lysette, taking her hand. She took the dirty fabric of her skirt in other hand, giving a curtsy to Bahorel. "Hello, monsieur. You're Miss Lysette's brother?"

Bahorel nodded. "Indeed. You've had to go through a lot, haven't you, child?"

Suzette nodded uncertainly.

"Well, life with be a bit easier for you now, I can tell you that. It will be an adventure." He picked her up in one arm, much to the delight of the little girl. The three cruised through the streets a bit faster this time, Suzette babbling happily, Bahorel shooting people venomous looks if they eyed Lysette the wrong way, and Lysette just wishing that she had a hat or something to cover her hair.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered when they'd been walking for about fifteen minutes. "Everyone is looking at me like I'm an alien."

"What's an alien?" Suzette asked from Bahorel's arms. "It is something scary?" She looked a little perturbed.

_I really need to stop using modern day terms_, she thought. "Uh…no. It's nothing. Just forget about it, Suzette."

Bahorel grinned, passed Suzette off to Lysette, and disappeared into a shop. He was in the little shop for about five minutes before he came out again with a plain white bonnet on his head. Suzette began shrieking with laughter. "Mr. Bahorel!" she cried. "Bonnets are for ladies!"

He winked at the little girl, taking the bonnet off and adjusting it over Lysette's head, tying the strings with surprisingly deft fingers. "There you are, 'Sette," he said, satisfied with his handiwork. "Now no one will you look at you as if you're an…alien. Whatever that is."

Lysette smiled. "Thanks," she said. _I feel like an effin' horse with blinders on_, she thought unhappily. She couldn't see to the sides of her, just straight ahead.

"Consider it a gift," Bahorel said, and the three continued on their way.

Eventually, they made it to Gavroche's elephant, and Suzette was utterly staggered. Gavroche was more than happy to take the little gamin in, and when he led her up to the inside of the statue, Lysette could have sworn that Suzette would die of happiness. It was clear she had taken a little shine to Gavroche.

As they walked away from the sight of their good deed, Lysette felt a little bit…hollow. Kind of sad in a ghostly way. She turned to Bahorel, and could see that his eyes were troubled. "Is something wrong?" she asked him.

"No, I think," Bahorel said. "Just a bit disgusted by society, is all. That half-mad woman and her starving daughter didn't earn more than a revolted glance from passersby. You have a good heart, Little 'Sette," he said heavily. "Even I wasn't going to help them. All I thought of was you turning away so that you didn't have to see it. What you said before, about how that is exactly what we're fighting for. It's true."

Lysette nodded. "It's like that in America," she said softly. "People ignore the homeless."

Bahorel gave a sad smile. "It must be like that all over the world, I'd reason. Germany, England, America, Asia…name any country and you will see injustice done. This is why we fight for equality. Because we don't understand how anyone can be so heartless as to ignore someone who is suffering. How that dastardly Louis-Philippe can sit there on his gilded throne while good people like Feuilly work for hours and hours just to earn a measly three francs." He shook his head. "What an odd world it is."

Lysette nodded. Before, she had never really cared much about changing the world. Sure, she worried about global warming, and felt bad for the starving people in Africa and all that, but she had never felt any desire to try and change the world. She'd give a dollar to a homeless person, but wouldn't try to find him shelter. She would buy those chocolates that donated money to endangered species, but she wouldn't try to talk to the hunters of said animals. Now, though, when she had seen this deprivation of man up close, it made her furious. It made her _want_ to change the world for the better. She wanted to shake the bourgeois and shout, "Can't you see that people are suffering?!"

"An odd world," she echoed. "Bahorel, I want you to know that I'll help in any way that I can. I want to be part of Les Amis. If we can help more people like Suzette, I'll do whatever I have to."

"A good heart," Bahorel repeated with a smile. "Let's go home now, _soeur_."


End file.
